Completeness 1

Seven fifteen. Seven ... fucking ... fifteen. On a Friday. A Friday, like every other, where I find myself here in the virtually abandoned office, sat before the screaming banality of a computer screen. Stacks of work get done sure. But all this extra work had no chance of being noticed let alone appreciated so why the hell was I still here? Why hadn't I left hours earlier along with every sane person? The answer, quite simply, was that there wasn't much to leave for. Nothing waiting for me at home other than some bad wine, a poorly chosen takeaway, a half watched movie and a stiff neck from falling asleep on an expensive-enough-to-be-more-damn-comfortable sofa. So, for now, this was it. My life. Awesome.

People had been gradually leaving over the last few hours. Each one throwing me a polite smile laced with just enough pity to really make it count. The emptier the office grew, the darker and colder it became and by now the air conditioning was compensating for a far fuller office. Goosebumps began forming all over the surface of my skin and I was almost shivering. That's why the sudden warmth hit me so unexpectedly. A warmth that began focused on a single spot on my neck and radiated a heat that spread slowly over my entire body. The warmth from a single breath.

The simmering frustration that had been building over the last few hours had such a hold on me that I hadn't noticed the chair wheel up next to mine. That breath was the first clue I wasn't alone and it's effect had me rooted. Immobile. My eyes closed, the hairs and my neck and arms stood on end and every muscle tensed. I couldn't even muster the effort to turn to see who had done this to me. But I didn't need to turn to see who it was. I knew who and I knew why. I'd known something had been coming since it happened and it happened almost exactly one week ago today.

It was another Friday. Another frustrating Friday and I was on my way to the ground floor to fetch something dull for something so far beyond tedious it wasn't even funny. Still, it was necessary and the break away from my desk was welcome. Being around 5 the lift was far too full. Everyone, except me, in their coats, umbrellas at the ready, desperate for escape. We were so packed in that his closeness didn't seem out of order at first. The invasion of my personal space was to be expected, so I tolerated it through clenched teeth. But then I felt him shift. Very slowly. Very deliberately against me. The first time I chose to ignore it, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that it was somehow accidental. Then he did it again. His hips pressing himself into me gently and holding there for far too long before moving away again. That was taking advantage and I felt incensed at this unsubtle effort to gain some cheap thrill from me. I was about to admonish him, scald him for being such a pervert when I caught myself. I knew what everyone would think if I did. It was a crowded lift. Accidentally brushing against each other was a natural consequence. All this he would point out. And since everyone thought, or at least I suspected they thought, I was a little nuts to begin with, they would all side with him. So I decided to just bear it quietly. That I should just be a good girl and do what was expected. Same as I always do.

But for some reason that day I didn't want to be good. All my frustrations had just been too much and instead I decided that I deserved to have a little fun. So I edged very slightly and very carefully back in to him until the contact could not be broken. Not by him, anyway. Then I began slowly, almost imperceptivity moving against him. My movement caught him off guard causing a sharp intake of breath. All he could do was stand there and take it. We were so close that the smallest movement had a magnified effect and it wasn't long before his enjoyment became obvious. Feeling him grow so hard against me gave me a glow. Made me feel powerful. The ragged breathing he was trying so hard to control communicated his desperate need and I felt him wrestle with the frustration of all those things he wanted to do to me but couldn't. The feeling of control this gave me only emboldened me further. My hand crept behind me and I lightly brushed my fingers against the inside of his thigh. He nearly leapt out of his own skin and a mischievous grin found it's way onto my lips. I traced my way further up and found my goal. God the heat it was generating was immense, and it was so hard. I nearly lost it right there. Span round ripped it free and impaled myself on it. I nearly give him exactly what he wanted. Let him win. That thought of losing brought me to my senses. I just lightly stroked my fingers along its length. I felt it twitch. He must've been in agony but I needed him to be. I needed him to be in a desperate state of need before I left him. Left him with nothing but his frustration and a very uncomfortable walk to his car. Then I would've won. One small, much needed victory. Just then the lift pinged, signaling our arrival, and we both jolted back to the world.

As the lift doors opened and the other occupants of the life filtered out he grabbed my arm tightly. Angrily. He pulled me back and leant in to my ear and whispered, almost growled under his breath "this isn't over" and then just left. I didn't concentrate on work much after that, pondering what he meant. How he would finish things. For the whole week all possibilities went through my mind. Multiple scenarios. I tried keeping them out of my head but the images kept flooding back. My imagination was in overdrive and it was driving me insane. He left me like that for the whole week.

He breathes again and the memory rushes away to be replaced again by that heat. Now I was fully aware of him and his body so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. I could sense his strength, his power over me and I became light headed. I wanted nothing more than to move, cross my legs at the very least to create some friction there. To alleviate the ache he had caused. To get some semblance of relief. But I was rooted to the chair. This wasn't as much about sex as it as about power. About control. And he had it, totally, over me. I would have let him do anything he wanted to me right then. Begged him to. But I knew he wouldn't. He was going to do exactly what he wanted, when he wanted.

He leans further in, an impossibly light kiss lands just below my ear and I gasp. Butterfly kisses pepper one side my neck as his hand holds and caresses the other. A final kiss at the nape is firmer, more prolonged and agonizingly slow and my neck arches in a vain attempt to prolong contact. I breathe in sharply as a hand brushes over the front my blouse. It's fingers stretch, stroking the underside of my breast while his thumb glances the hard tip. Oh god. I'm trembling now. I will him to move faster but he very obviously wants to take this slow. To tease. He plays with me. Rolling my nipple with his thumb, coaxing it to an impossible hardness. My heart is beating so hard and I can hardly breathe.

Buttons are released, his hand moves beneath my top, inside my bra and I finally feel his hand on my skin. His touch is so hot it almost burns. As he gently caresses my breast I'm aware that the warmth of his breath is now beating against my lips, which I subconsciously part. His face is so close and he brushes his lips against mine. His tongue traces along them. I try to lean in to form some more tangible contact but he pulls away. Why is he being so cruel? So vindictive?

I feel fingertips on my leg, my thigh. Slowly tracing their way up, increasing my excitement even further until he finally presses his hand against me. Only with the contact do I realise how wet I am. He knows. I can almost feel him smirk. I push against him. Squirm to maximize the wonderful effect but almost immediately he withdraws and I nearly weep in frustration. If I could speak I'd beg him to continue. To stroke me, give me what I so desperately needed. God knows it wouldn't take long. But then I feel it, the sudden rush of air through the gap at the waist of my smart black work trousers. The gap formed by his fingers as they reach down and spread to trace my lips so very slowly. So very lightly. My mouth forms the shape of a moan but the sound won't come. My legs part and I shift in my chair, giving him all the access he needs. I need. His fingers continue their teasing and I try to will them to enter me. To fuck me. Will them to seek out my hard, throbbing clit but he avoids it. Avoids it because he knows how close I am. Each breath is ragged and comes with a moan or a gasp. My fingers claw at the edge of my desk and my legs begin to quiver. "Do you want it?" he whispers, "do you want to come?" "Yes," I barely manage to whisper. "Convince me," he demands. He wants me to beg. Of course he does. I hesitate, some part of me still fighting. Still reluctant to let myself be beaten like this. My defiance lasts less than a second. "Please. Oh god, please make me come." The quivering desperation in my voice was palpable. He'd won.

As I resign myself to this he halts his assault and I panic that he'll leave it there as I left him. Alone, desperate and panting. Just as I deserved. But then he returns and gone is the patience and delicacy. He's not holding back any more. No longer being gentle. He's vigorous. Brutal. His lips are on me, his tongue playing with mine and he tastes divine. My blouse, bra are ripped from me and his fingers scrape. Roll. Pinch. The pain is exquisite. His chair is thrust back and he's all over me. My back arches and I grind back against his fingers which are working on me frantically. They enter me. They plough into me over and over; his thumb finds my aching clit and is relentless. I'm so fucking close. His mouth is again next to my ear and he spits words at me. Cruel words. He calls me names. Tells me how much of a bitch I was. How much of a slut I am. How desperate and pathetic he's made me, tells me he owns me. I love every word. Every syllable, which he emphasises with thrusts of his finger, tweaks of my nipples and with hard flicks of that thumb. The frenzy builds and I feel that cock grinding against me. I remember how it felt in the lift. How much I wanted its heat inside me. Filling me. Driving me insane. I remember the images from the week. The week of mounting frustration, of imagined possibilities. Just then my clit is trapped between his thumb and finger as he mouth is on my breast sucking and biting. Suddenly my feet slam against the floor and it starts. My entire body stiffens, shakes and my head is thrown back. I make a sound. A gasp, a scream combined. It's almost inhuman. It's loud.

As I finally begin to come down he leans in one more time. He whispers in my ear, causing me to flinch. "Still not done." I had a feeling this was going to be the longest week of my life.